I wrote a Cannonball Read review for Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 on Saturday that was posted on the site Monday wherein I lament that I may be a bad science fiction fan for not having read his work before. In the interest of full disclosure, I'm sure I have read some of his work but fail to remember it, as it would have been so long ago. Needless to say, I thoroughly enjoyed the book and will be partaking of more of Mr. Bradbury's works post haste.

After my brief association with Bradbury, I think that I can say I am, or will be, a fan. What I can't say is that I'd put out for the cranky old curmudgeon. Listen, I'm all about putting winkle in a bit of wrinkle, I would do things to Betty White that would grow her teeth back, the combination of Ben-gay and Polident is an aphrodisiac most potent; but Ray just seems so damned disagreeable sometimes. That is where Rachel Bloom and I differ. Rachel really likes Mr. Bradbury. Her obsession runs to such an extent that she's willing to ruin his books to gain satisfaction. Honestly, I'd hate to get caught between her and the object of her desire. It would no doubt denigrate in to a half sexy, half leathery Bob sammich with extra juice. Please note that the following isn't safe for work.